The municipal incompetence marring a good night out

As I sat shivering in a lay-by on the A34 late last night – the rain venomously thrashing down on my suddenly kaputt car – and awaited rescue by the AA, I had plenty of time to ponder some of the most profound questions of existence. Like: why had I bought the new U2 album – against every fibre of reason in my being – from a service station earlier that day, instead of, say, a handy emergency supply of chocolate? And: is a trip to the theatre ever worth the risk of cold, hunger, deprivation and possibly death, even if the show is a pleasant enough diversion – as Sentimental Journey at the Mill at Sonning, to be reviewed once I've properly recovered my ordeal, proved?

Most crucially, though – and this was the 64 million Nectar points question: why have so many of my experiences of regional arts in the past week or so been made massively crummier on account of driving to and from the venue?

It's not that the experience of being in a car is unsatisfactory. Far from it: not only are you more likely to get a seat during rush-hour (don't get me started on our woeful train-services) but you can even arrive at your destination better disposed towards your fellow man than when you left home. If you time your run to coincide with PM and later The World Tonight on Radio 4, for instance, then it's like having picked up some of the brightest, best informed people in Britain as hitchhikers to keep you company en route.

No, my quarrel is with the ill thought-through environment for drivers in which many of our regional theatres and arts centres are mired. There's basic stuff, like road signage, for starters. I was late arriving at a gig by the always excellent Robin Ince in Basingstoke the other night for no other reason than that the signs to the Anvil – and its confusing concrete cluster of associated car-parks – involve so many invitations to go round roundabouts in the direction you just came in that, unless you're in no hurry whatsoever, you're almost bound to take a wrong turn. It's as if the town-planners and traffic-flow bods had decided that only people who already live in Basingstoke would possibly want to visit it – and would have acquired the necessary knowledge after much trial and error. Now maybe, given how grimly carbuncular – let's face it – the centre of Basingstoke is, that's a fair assumption. But shouldn't they at least be trying to attract outsiders rather than have them shaking their heads in indignation and vowing 'never again'?

Another – almost scandalous – case in point: the signs to the new Curve theatre in Leicester, which I visited the other night to see Tim Supple's As You Like It (a sore disappointment, alas) RUN OUT at the exact moment when you need to turn right off the main ring-road. The council are aware of this cock-up, I'm told – and plan to remedy it, when they get round to it. But isn't it frankly incredible that a building that cost so many millions to build – and is designed to attract people to the city – should be lost to Leicester's 70s labyrinth for want of a few bob or two and some basic forward planning?

OK, this may sound like a minor niggle blown out of all proportion – but it's enraging when you're forced, as I was, to pay an additional Â£2.50 because the post-show queuing alone has tipped you into a costlier time-tariff. It was a similar story in Woking, on Sunday – after the Rob Brydon gig at the New Victoria Theatre. Loads of people standing around complaining that there weren't enough NCP pay-stations. A lovely evening, soured at the end by a very British kind of incompetence. I'm sure these are just a few instances of a general failure to apply joined-up thinking to our cities' leisure amenities – if there's anything that's particularly enraged you, make some noise below! I won't be able to do anything – but you'll have my heartfelt commiserations.